


Anodyne

by FuzzyMonk



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Optimistic Ending, Repressed Memories, Romance, descriptions of blood and surgical procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 16:13:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17707496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuzzyMonk/pseuds/FuzzyMonk
Summary: This was why, Amelie realized. This was why Moira showed no sympathy, no kindness. Why the guards at Talon wore masks and why she and Sombra were rarely in the same room. Because now she remembered. Through soft touches and gentle tones she remembered the life that was worth fighting for.





	Anodyne

It had been one hell of a lucky shot. Rarely did the Widowmaker leave a mission scathed. Bullets reflected off of her deceptive suit, and her heightened senses and abilities made it all the easier to dodge. The soldier, now dead in a pile with the others, hadn’t even been aiming for her. She’d merely grappled into it, his rifle kicking up when a member of Talon grabbed him from behind.

Widowmaker felt the bullet enter her side, felt it bury deep within her viscera, and swore under her breath. She landed safely atop the ledge she grappled to, and looked down at the damage. Her blood poured slower than most, but it was still enough to be alarming, already dripping down her thigh in a wide cascade.

She hadn’t been injured in a long time. But she remembered the process all too well. Other members of Talon received care from medics, physicians. Widowmaker was sent to Moira. Moira O’Deorain was not a medic. She was a scientist first and foremost. But for Widowmaker: Talon’s most prized possession, she made an exception. And Moira O’Deorain never missed out on a learning opportunity. 

Widowmaker swallowed, dry tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. Though her pain receptors were weak, they weren’t dead. Moira always poked and prodded and pushed and pulled, always _testing_ to see how much more Widowmaker could take before finally, finally, the sweet anodyne entered her system. Along with death, Moira was a highly motivating factor for not getting injured in the field.

The bullet was lodged deep. Widowmaker could feel it in depths she’d never realized. It hurt to breathe, to move, but she knew that going to Moira would only make it worse, longer, push her further and further to that precipice. Steeling herself, Widowmaker stood, and made her decision.

* * *

Widowmaker had snuck into Overwatch HQ so many times it was laughable. Despite hiring the ‘best and brightest’ when it came to security and surveillance, they were no match for Talon. Every week, Sombra bypassed the updated security systems and every week Widowmaker infiltrated, learning the new guard rotations and postings.

The famed organization never knew just how close to annihilation it was. 

Tonight, however, Widowmaker had different plans.

She sat perched on a ledge, perfectly out of sight of the cameras and shadowed enough to mask her from the guards. Rifle in one hand, the other pressed painfully firmly against her side. She felt the blood seeping through her fingers with every slow beat of her heart. There wasn’t much time left. It had been agonizing just to get this far. But the fear of Moira pushed her deeper into the shadows. A part of her would rather die. It would be easier, wouldn’t it? To fall asleep and never wake up. Another part of her feared being found once she died. Being brought back to life. There was so little of her left. What more would they take upon her death to justify saving her life?

She exhaled sharply, and even her slower breaths were shallow, head starting to swim. Her normally dark purple skin was a sickly light lavender. Instinct kicked in, and after the guard rounding the corner, she made her move.

She didn’t even know what brought her here, to Angela Ziegler’s bed bay. She knew Mercy from Overwatch and supposedly in her past life. Of course she had, but those memories were long since scrubbed. She didn’t know Mercy outside of the facts in her head and her experiences with her on the battlefield. But she knew she was a doctor. And shew that she was the best. And she knew that she was not Moira. And those factors alone contributed to her slinking inside.

Off the battlefield, Angela Ziegler was nothing if not predictable. Far too altruistic for anyone’s good, she shrugged off guards, check-ins, and her own personal safety so as to not inconvenience anyone. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was helpless. And it wasn’t as if there weren’t cameras everywhere and constant patrols. She would be fine. She always was.

In the med bay, she dropped her holopad onto the table and leaned up, twisting her spine and sighing at the row of popping that raced up its length. Her eyes were bleary from the tiny text of the holopad, but sharpened back into focus after a few rubs. The back that had been so sore at her posture now felt loose and ready for more. Sometimes her accelerated healing had its downsides. For instance, her “breaks” were little more than thirty seconds. Just enough to stop everything and let the nanites sort her back out. If only the nanites could work the same magic on her brain. It lost focus hours ago, re-reading the same line of an article over and over. Angela sighed, easing herself from the chair and stifling a yawn. It was near morning. She could catch a few hours sleep before her appointments.

As she reached to turn off the light, something caught her eye. Expertly trained, she made no showing of it, reaching over seamlessly to shroud the room in darkness. She could see the figure propped up against the corner of the room, head tilting in the new darkness as it watched her. Angela turned and faced it, eyes quickly scanning the room for weapons, advantages, and exit routes.

“What do you want?”

She used the tone that normally caught people by surprise. They never expected Angela to be so confident, so powerful when cornered. Persistent underestimation was her biggest advantage. The figure, however, merely straightened, hitching and hissing when they went too far. Clutching at its side, the figure emerged, and in the small flashing lights of the equipment, Angela could see the unmistakable uniform of the Widowmaker.

“Am--

“Dr. Ziegler. Some things never change, no?” She tried to purr, but the injury made her words stuttered, breaths uneven. She'd meant it in reference to the doctor always working late in her lab. But Angela tensed at the comment as if struck. She didn't really have the capacity to figure that one out in this moment. Time moved strangely around her, slowly, then all at once, then gone again. Somewhere in that lost time, Angela had switched on her lamp again, and she could make out the soft gasp as the doctor gazed upon her. She looked down at her now deep red pant leg, the puddle of blood on the floor, then back at her macabre little footprints on the sterile tile. She must have looked a sight.

Angela stepped closer, ready to aid as was always the doctor’s first instinct, and stepped right into a pistol. She was surprised at the speed at which the injured woman grabbed it, but stopped, waiting as Widowmaker caught her breath.

“No one else,” she gritted out, cocking the gun. “Do you understand?”

Angela nodded. Other doctors would have disagreed. They needed nurses, anesthesiologists, et cetera. Angela knew she could do it, and she wouldn’t waste time arguing. And for that, Widowmaker allowed herself to smile, holstering the gun and accepting the help.

Though she was gentle, Angela wasted no time in easing Widowmaker onto a table. It felt good to lie down. Her head was so heavy. Forcing her eyes to stay open, she watched as Angela squirted some antiseptic onto her hands and applied gloves.

“Is your blood chemistry the same?” she asked, voice distant and clinical. “Since the changes?”

“O negative, lucky me,” Widowmaker answered.

Angela hummed in response and took a syringe to her arm. She found a vein immediately, pulling blood and popping it in a nearby machine to be analyzed. And something in Widowmaker’s brain flagged. She knew, for some reason, that Angela could always find a vein in anyone. How she knew was...fuzzy. Still, she was somewhat impressed that she had any blood at all, however, and smirked at the doctor’s back as she read the results.

The doctor sprinted away and reappeared so quickly, Widowmaker wondered if she had her wings under that lab coat. She hung two bags of blood from an IV stand and quickly found a vein again. Every move she made was practiced, perfect, done a million times over with success. From inserting the needle to applying the tape to hold it in place. And that, admittedly, made Widowmaker feel a little bit better about not dying today.

With the blood started, Angela grabbed a pair of trauma shears and cut away the rest of Widowmaker’s armor. She felt her skin exposed to the air and looked down to find herself naked from the waist down. But the doctor didn’t so much as take a glance at anything but the wound. She took a portable X-Ray tablet, what looked like a sheet of glass, and turned it on, running it over Widowmaker’s abdomen. Widow watched the doctor’s brow furrow in the harsh light of the X-Ray, the hard cut of her jaw and those deep blue eyes. A pretty woman that made her dizzy to look at. She flicked her eyes away and watched the blood slowly drain from the bags.

“It’s deep,” Angela commented, more to herself. “You’ll need surgery.”

“Do not put me to sleep.”

That gave Angela pause. She lowered the X-Ray tablet and met her eyes. Widowmaker held the gaze despite the way her brain seemed to want to resist it. “If you try, I will run.”

“You won’t get far.”

“No, but I’ll likely die. And that’s better than being captured by Overwatch.” She sneered the last word out, watching as Angela stiffened. But it wasn’t anger that flooded into her eyes. It was...something softer. Something that Widowmaker never saw directed back at her. Sympathy.

“It will hurt, Amelie,” she said, watching as the woman flinched at the name. “Excruciating.”

She scoffed, eyelids fluttering. “You don’t know pain.”

A dramatic response, but likely not untrue, Angela considered. She sighed. They couldn’t waste time arguing. “A local anesthetic then? Please?”

“Let me see it.”

Angela raced to a cabinet and pulled out a vial all but thrusting it into Widowmaker’s face. Though her vision was blurry, she could make out the name of a common anesthetic and nodded. She’d barely inclined her head when Angela moved, filling a rather large syringe and pressing it into her side.

Widowmaker groaned at the added pain, the stinging of the anesthetic as it burrowed deeply in her tissue. A gloved hand came to rest on her hip, gripping it tightly. “Hold still.”

She jumped at the grip of the hand, her brain swimming to find an answer to question it did not know. Widowmaker sealed her eyes shut and tried to clear her thoughts, tried to get her brain under control. She’d much rather it focus on the pain than the white hot heat of Angela’s touch. At least pain she could understand.

The anesthetic did dull the pain somewhat. Though Widow supposed that someone of lesser...attributes would have passed out from shock by now. Angela disposed of the syringe and went to grab the tools she needed, opening various sterile items and setting them on the tray. She disappeared for a few moments and returned in a gown, hat and mask. The med bay wasn’t as sterile as the operating room, but she’d just add that to the list of unethical things she was doing tonight. She sat down on a stool next to Widowmaker’s side and turned the lamp to where the woman was near blinded.

“Do not move,” Angela commanded in a voice that even gave the Widowmaker pause. “Or you will most certainly die.”

“Is that a promise?” Widowmaker barely got the sass out before she hissed, body tensing but not moving as she felt Angela’s fingers inside of her. Angela’s heart panged in sympathy at the sight. She felt nauseous. It was cruel to work on someone without proper anesthesia, even under such extraordinary circumstances. She was taught to do no harm, and the moans and whimpers from the woman beneath her buried all too familiarly under her skin.

“Why are you here?” Angela asked, hoping to distract the patient from the pain.

Widowmaker, panting, latched onto the voice. Though she’d welcomed the pain, earlier, she wished nothing more than to just pass out and get it over with. Moira, however, had seen to it that passing out was not an option. She gritted her teeth and focused on what that soft voice had said. Let it swim around in her mind and fluster it into chaos.

“I got shot.”

“Certainly Talon has doctors that could have treated you.”

“I don’t have that luxury.”

A question lingered in the silence, so Widowmaker went ahead and answered. “Dr. O’Deorain is the only one allowed to attend to me.” She didn’t understand the foreign word Angela muttered under her breath, but she had a good feeling it was naughty.

“I’m sorry,” Angela said as she soldered a few bleeds away. Widowmaker hitched at the words and Angela couldn’t find it in herself to be angry, taking care that she didn’t disrupt anything in the motion. “Please, don’t move.”

Another hitch. Angela pulled her hands out entirely and tried to meet Widowmaker’s eyes. “Amelie,” another hitch, “I can’t go in if--

“Stop being so goddamn kind,” Widowmaker growled then, a mixture of fury and pain. “And don’t call me that.”

Silence followed, and Widowmaker felt Angela inside of her again, deeper than the local anesthetic could ever go. She wished for Angela to speak again, but they both knew that was futile. So she unabashedly whined and screamed and groaned. Angela said nothing, so long as she kept still.

Hours bled into moments that bled into years before Angela finally spoke again. “Got it,” she breathed, carefully extracting the bullet. Widowmaker was lucky it was still in one piece. “Are you still with me?”

“Mhmm.”

“I need to check for organ damage.” Angela did just that, repairing a rupture in the spleen that likely caused most of the internal bleeding. Satisfied that the rest of the organs were intact, Angela withdrew her hands. “I’m going to close, now.”

Widowmaker’s breathing was appropriately rapid. Her pulse was appropriately tacky, blood pressure appropriately low. She was nowhere near out of the woods, but Angela could sort all of that out once the bulk of the problem was dealt with. She began to suture, which went much more smoothly thanks to the local anesthetic still in her system. With the pain nowhere near as bad as it was, Widowmaker turned her head and watched the doctor work.

With the mask and hair covering, she could only see her eyes. Deep blue and focused, she found herself getting lost in them. In a move to get a better angle, Angela lifted her hand and settled it on Widowmaker’s stomach, the motion tender in its mindlessness.

Something in her brain clicked.

Angela was too focused on her task to notice the way Widowmaker’s eyes widened. Her memories hadn’t been erased, they’d been buried. And the second gentle touch had unearthed them, where they flooded to the surface.

* * *

 

_“Bonjour, Angela,” Amelie cooed as she stepped into the doctor’s office._

_“Bonjour, Amelie.” Angela rose from her desk, the two performing a practiced dance of kissing each other’s cheek. Amelie adored the smell of antiseptic and linens that always lingered on the doctor and couldn’t help but let her lips linger. If Angela noticed, she made no showing, pulling back with a wide smile._

_“I bought tickets to your ballet this weekend.”_

_Amelie’s eyes widened in delight even as she clicked her tongue. “You needn’t have. I would have gotten you some if you’d only asked.”_

_“I know. But I wanted to support you.”_

_Amelie couldn’t help but smile at that and stepped closer. “You are so good to me.”_

_“You deserve nothing less.”_

_Boundaries had been tested for some time. Lingering gazes and touches, a flirtation or two, the breaking of personal bubbles. Amelie let her eyes roam over Angela’s beautiful features. When a hand brushed against hers, she happily let the fingers lace._

_“Are you coming alone?” she asked quietly in their closeness._

_Angela swallowed. Amelie felt her thumb rub the finger where her ring should be and braced for rejection. The good doctor licked her lips._

_“If you desire.”_

_“I do.”_

_At the performance, Amelie looked for her. She found her easily, close to the front, smiling wide and giving a little wave. Already more support than she had ever received. Amelie felt tears prick her eyes and put on the performance of a lifetime. After the show, she had someone find Angela and bring her to her dressing room. It was small, but private. A luxury for the lead ballerina. She’d just begun to undo the corset of her costume when she heard rapid knocks and the door opening._

_“Amelie, you were amazing! The things you can do! I had no idea,” Angela said as she shut the door behind her._

_Amelie grinned, and before she could even turn, she felt hands on her back, undoing the laces for her. Angela was still giddy from the performance, chatting on and on about the amazing things that Amelie did. She seemed, to the ballerina, blissfully unaware of just what she was doing. Or perhaps she supposed there was a leotard underneath. Amelie smiled to herself and when she felt the corset finally give, she let it drop to the floor._

_Angela stopped speaking. The room became silent but for the buzzing tension between them. Amelie dared not turn, but she could feel Angela’s eyes raking in the bare skin of her back. She could feel the heat of her hands, so close but not quite touching._

_“You were saying?” Amelie asked, turning her head to glance at Angela over her shoulder._

_Her mouth was parted, words lost, desire was etched across her features. Amelie could see her hands hanging in the air, torn in indecision. So she made one, and took a step back. Angela’s knuckles brushed once against the skin of her back, feather light. Then again, a single knuckle dragged down the curve of her spine. Fingertips dove into the dimples above her ass. And finally, there was a hot breath that spoke her name against her shoulder._

_Angela’s hands cupped her waist and curved around, tracing the contours of her stomach. She felt the rough brush of Angela’s shirt against her back and moaned when lips pressed against her shoulder. Angela squeezed her tighter, moaned her name into heated skin. Amelie rested her hands over top of Angela’s and guided them upwards towards her breasts. They’d only just ghosted over the sensitive skin when a burst of laughter outside tore them apart._

_Both pairs of eyes flicked towards the door, waiting, but the laughter passed down the hallway and they were alone again. Eyes met for the first time, the both of them breathless and past the point of no return. Amelie faced her finally, stepped closer to the flushed doctor, and kissed her._

* * *

They’d stolen many more kisses. Amelie could remember the feel of Angela’s lips, the adored insistence of her tongue, the sharp scrape of her teeth. She remembered her smell, her taste, how she sounded when she came undone. She remembered a laugh in her ear and sleeping beside a warm body. She remembered late nights talking around a bottle of wine, shared stories and heartbreaks and Angela holding her when she cried. And how she’d cried. She remembered loving her, but not telling her so.

This was why, Amelie realized. This was why Moira showed no sympathy, no kindness. Why the guards at Talon wore masks and why she and Sombra were rarely in the same room. Because now she remembered. Through soft touches and gentle tones she remembered the life that was worth fighting for.

And she must have made a noise, for those blue eyes lifted from their suturing and surveyed her. Amelie watched the doctor’s brow furrow, the fingertips on her stomach tightening in concern. “Amelie? Are you okay?”

Amelie reached out in answer, a bloodied finger pulling down the corner of Angela’s mask, revealing her face. She hadn’t changed at all. Matured, maybe, but not aged. Tears. Tears pressed at her eyes, hot and uncomfortable and she tried to blink them back only to have them run down her cheeks.

“Angela,” she breathed as if seeing her for the first time. And in a way, she was. She cupped Angela’s cheek, stroking the soft skin with her thumb. It was warm against her numbed skin.

The doctor held her gaze for a few moments, then forced a swallow, eyes casting down to finish the job. A few more knots and she sat up and tossed her gloves into a nearby biohazard container. Amelie’s hand never left her face.

“Finished.”

She stood, letting Amelie’s hand graze along her body until she curled her hand around a waist. Amelie sat up, oblivious to the pain, the IV, Angela’s objections, and moved to stand with her. She was always taller than Angela, and now she looked down at the those blue eyes, full of questions but no way to voice them. Her other hand came up and undid the gown, easing it off of her shoulders to reveal the lab coat and blouse she remembered unbuttoning time and time again.

“I used to hold you like this,” she whispered at their closeness.

Angela’s chest rose and fell with labored breaths she tried to calm. “Yes,” she said, and lifted her hands. A brief pinch, and the IV slid from her arm, the blood long since restored. Silence. Stares. Angela’s eyes were rimmed with tears. Amelie couldn’t bring herself to ask why.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Amelie whispered, brushing the backs of her knuckles down Angela’s pale and fluttering neck.

Angela shook her head and the tears finally fell, picked up by Amelie’s finger. “I...I didn’t know what you...I didn’t know.”

“How you’ve suffered--

“No,” Angela shook her head again, arms reaching out to clutch at Amelie’s good side. “It is nothing compared to what they did to you. I’m only sorry I…” she drifted as Amelie hushed her and pulled her in to an embrace

She felt Angela shudder against her. She was aware on some level that she was half naked, covered in blood, and only barely stable. But more importantly was the feel of Angela’s heartbeat against her chest, and that familiar, antiseptic and linen smell that had always appealed to her, even after her memories vanished.

“Angela,” she breathed the woman’s name aloud against the shell of her ear, feeling another shudder.

“Amelie,” breathed into her shoulder like the very first time, heady and all-consuming.

Amelie gripped her tighter, one hand sliding up her back to grab her neck. She pulled Angela’s head back and met her lips in one fluid motion. Angela returned the kiss, tentative at first, then growing in fervor. Amelie smiled against her lips as she felt that insistent tongue and felt warmth bloom in her chest, spreading throughout her body to alight her nerves.

They pulled away out of need, foreheads resting against each other. Amelie breathed her in, allowed Angela to ground her in this moment. Later there would be more questions than answers. Later there would be pain. But for now, Amelie embraced the anodyne.

 


End file.
